


never gonna stop

by milominderbinder



Series: maia's shameless fic a day in the month of may [12]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Running, cute boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:25:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milominderbinder/pseuds/milominderbinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey go running together.</p><p>Mickey is <i>not</i> happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never gonna stop

“Come  _on_ Mick, it’ll be fun!”

“Ian, the only time I run is when there’s a cop fuckin’ _chasing_ me, okay?  Give it up and go by yourself.”

Mickey rolls back over and shoves his head into the pillow so he doesn’t have to watch Ian’s pout.  Ian’s been running every morning for a few months now, ever since he was put on his latest set of meds, but it’s only been the last week that he’s made it his mission to get Mickey to come along with him.

Mickey is vehemently against the idea, to say the least.  He prefers his exercise unplanned, and preferably nonexistent.  In Juvie he didn’t have anything better to do than work out, most of the time, but still - that was lifting weights and doing pull ups, not fucking _cardio._ Running makes Mickey think too much of middle school gym, where the teacher who hated him would make him run laps of the football pitch every lesson, and Mickey’s lungs, already ruined by a lifetime of secondhand smoke, would be screaming at him by the end of the hour.  He was convinced he was asthmatic, for a while, but eventually realised he was just fucked up by his environment.

Ian, of course, has grown up just as smoke-bathed and unhealthy as Mickey, yet here he is, at seven in the fucking morning, already up, wearing his sweatpants and trainers and one of Mickey’s t-shirts, stood at the edge of the bed, flicking Mickey’s toes beneath the sheets.

“Get _up,”_ he whines.  “Running’s so fucking boring by myself, but it’d be fun if we do it together!”

“We have real different definitions of the word _fun,”_ Mickey grumbles into the pillow.  There’s a moment of silence, and then he can’t resist any longer.  He rolls back over, sighing heavily, so he can get a look at Ian’s face.  Ian’s pouting, looking at him like he’s getting his fucking _heart_ broken.  Then, suddenly, his expression changes, and Mickey can smell trouble.

“Bet I can think of a way to make it fun,” he says, grinning slyly.  Mickey forces himself to keep his expression neutral, but his interest perks up - along with other parts of him.

“Oh yeah?” he says.  “Gimme a for instance.”

“Well, I run somewhere different pretty much every day, but we _could_ run down the street to the baseball dugouts.  Nobody’ll be there this early.”

“And, what?  When we’re there, we gonna throw a fuckin’ ball around?”

Mickey’s only teasing, because if Ian’s raised eyebrows and wicked grin aren’t indication enough of what he’s hinting at then the way he’s leaning over and sliding his hand up Mickey’s leg beneath the sheets _definitely_ is.  Still, Ian laughs, and responds. 

“Well, I was thinkin’ _something_ to do with balls, yeah.”

Mickey laughs before he can help himself, then quickly catches his expression and forces it back into a scowl.  It’s too late, though.  Ian knows he’s won.

\--

Ten minutes later, Mickey’s wearing sweatpants and sneakers just like Ian, cursing under his breath as Ian leads him out of the house.  When they’re in the front yard Ian stops and starts stretching, pulling each arm across his body, doing a couple deep lunges.  Mickey watches, one eyebrow raised.

“Stretching’s important,” Ian says, rolling his eyes when he sees Mickey’s expression.  “I know you’ve got something against doing absolutely anything that’s good for you, but we’re not all idiots, okay?”

Mickey just glares in response.

When Ian turns his back, though, he quickly stretches his legs out a little.  No point being dumb about it, after all.

\--

Six minutes after they start running, Mickey first realises he’s gonna die.  

He was _not_ built for running.  His heart is racing dangerously fast, his face is bright red and flushed, he’s sweating more than he actually thinks he’s drunk in the last _week._ Ian, of course, is having no fucking troubles, just bouncing along at a steady pace, wearing a calm and open expression.

Mickey wonders if he should quit smoking, too.  It seems to be doing Ian a fucking lot of good.

Ian doesn’t actually seem to notice how much better he’s doing until they turn the corner and he sees Mickey properly.  Mickey’d been lagging a few steps behind, but their positions change as they turn, and Ian gets a proper look at the wheezing, sweating, blushing mess that is his boyfriend.

And promptly starts laughing.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey says.  Ian doesn’t, just keeps grinning smugly, and Mickey shoves him in the chest.  “‘Ey, I’m doing twice as much work as you, a’ight, not all of us have legs the size of a fuckin’ giraffe.”

Ian keeps laughing as he runs.  Mickey keeps tripping him up, every time he can get up enough energy to force himself ahead.

\--

It takes them fifteen minutes to reach the baseball dugout, and by the time they get there, Mickey’s wondering where he should stash Ian’s body after he murders him.

Ian still hasn’t fully stopped laughing, and also has still hardly broken a sweat; apparently fifteen minutes is a warm up to him, compared to a _marathon_ to Mickey.  Still, he doesn’t complain when they stop at the dugouts.  He can probably tell that Mickey’s gonna go on a killing spree if he suggests running any further.

When they get into the dugouts, Mickey collapses onto the bench, panting.  He lets his head drop back and shuts his eyes for a moment; he’s never been so grateful for a stupid fuckin’ plank of wood, but his legs feel like they were gonna drop off if he forced them to stand up a moment longer.  When he opens his eyes again, Ian’s looking at him, a dumb grin slapped across his face.

“I hate you,” Mickey says, only half joking.  It just makes Ian grin wider.

“See, this is why you should come with me every day,” Ian says.  “When I started running, I sucked almost as bad as you.  I mean, not _as_ bad, because you’re like, _impressively_ terrible.  But I’m sure you’d get less shit, if you practiced.  A _lot.”_

“Shut _up,”_ Mickey says, groaning.  He’s managed to catch his breath a little, enough to shift and reach out his arms, grab hold of the strings of Ian’s sweatpants.  He pulls Ian closer by them, until Ian’s stood right between his legs.

“Hey,” says Ian, grinning wickedly.  He threads his fingers into Mickey’s hair.  Mickey’s face is right in front of Ian’s crotch; he can see the outline of Ian’s dick through his sweatpants.  The urge to pull them down and get that dick inside his ass is almost overwhelming.

But Ian’s being such a little shit, Mickey resists.  Instead, he pushes Ian down to his knees, then raises his eyebrows.

“This had better be the best fuckin’ blow job of my _life._ ”

\--

The next day, Ian wakes up at seven am to get ready for his run.

Only to find that Mickey’s already up, dressed, and lacing his sneakers.

**Author's Note:**

> for the fic a day in may challenge, and a prompt from sirlancehot: _ian convinces mickey to go on a run with him_
> 
> send me more prompts on tumblr: [mickeymilk](http://mickeymilk.tumblr.com).


End file.
